


touch-tone telephone

by starkhasheart



Series: touch-tone telephone [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), Dirty Talk, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Vibrators
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-27
Updated: 2019-10-27
Packaged: 2021-01-04 05:00:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,216
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21191969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starkhasheart/pseuds/starkhasheart
Summary: Technology is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Not just concerning vibrators, or anything related to self-pleasure—mainly concerning phones. Smartphones, to be exact. They’re always improving with the latest technology, making them faster and smarter. So much smarter, in fact, that if you say a certain word or phrase, it will act accordingly.Crowley’s mobile, which is laying on the bed next to him, is on silent, so he does not hear the announcement of “Calling Aziraphale” through his moans, or the ringing tone.





	touch-tone telephone

**Author's Note:**

> hey everyone what the Fuck is up. it's been months and i'm still obsessed with this fucking show
> 
> title is from the song "touch-tone telephone" by lemon demon
> 
> this isn't beta'd because we irritating
> 
> [follow me on tumblr](https://chadaziraphale.tumblr.com)

Crowley would be loath to admit that he feels distressed whenever he’s not near Aziraphale. These feelings, though insistent, have not been present for that long; when Crowley drove like a madman to the angel’s bookshop only to find it up in flames and no Aziraphale inside is when the feeling of anxiety began to show itself. It was finally quelled, at least, for a minute or two, when Adam willed Aziraphale back into a corporeal form, tearing him from Madame Tracy’s body.

It wasn’t like they hadn’t spent many years apart before—for the longest time, Crowley had spent most of it sleeping, recovering from the whole holy water scenario that he _doesn’t_ like to think about—anyway. He would also be reluctant to acknowledge that during the moments he was conscious around those times he missed Aziraphale’s presence, if only a little.

And you would certainly be in for a challenge if you tried to _force_ him to admit his actual _feelings_ for the angel. He can’t even admit them to himself, if we’re being honest here.

His mind went back to the moment, the exact moment, said feelings blossomed in his chest for Aziraphale—when the angel admitted, wretchedly, that he handed his flaming sword given to him by God to defend the Eastern Gate of Eden to the outcasted humans. And Crowley began to feel it, a warmth blooming in his chest, filling his whole body with an emotion he wasn’t sure had a name yet.

Actually, looking back on the whole fiasco, there had been a name for the feeling he had. He had witnessed it in Eden, with Adam and Eve, in their shared embraces and mouths ghosting across skin.

_Love_. It was love.

Demons weren’t supposed to love.

Crowley had never been a model demon, though.

“Crowley, I don’t see why you’re so worried. It’s only for a week. I will be back before you know it.”

“I’m not _worried_,” the demon grouses, slouching against the doorframe leading into the backroom of Aziraphale’s bookshop. “Just don’t see what the fuss is, is all. It’s a book fair. You’ve already got all the books you could need.”

Of course, Crowley is wrong, in this instance, because everyone and their mother in the West End knows that Aziraphale’s thirst for literature will never be quenched until he’s read every bleeding book known to man, and even then, who knows.

In this scenario, Aziraphale is packing what appears to be a suitcase that has existed since the Beginning, filling it with various things: an assortment of tomes, a collection of bowties (Aziraphale’s only change of clothes within the last century and a half have been his bowties. Crowley is surprised that his garb hasn’t crumbled to dust at this point) and of course, his favorite mug, tacky little angel wings and all. The angel clasps it shut and grips the handle in his hand, lifting it as if it weighed nothing at all. This most certainly does not give Crowley certain Thoughts he’ll have to deal with later.

“The craving for knowledge never ends, dear boy,” Aziraphale says. “I’ll only be gone for a week. Leipzig isn’t that far off.”

_You don’t understand_, Crowley thinks, _that literally any distance between you and I that is more than the length of this bookshop makes me feel that I could lose you again. _“Ngk,” Crowley mutters, crossing his arms and glaring a hole into the floor. “Dunno why you’re taking a plane when you can just miracle yourself there. Bosses aren’t keeping track anymore.”

“And where would the fun be in that, Crowley?” Aziraphale says, puttering back into the main room with Crowley sauntering along behind him. “Not to mention the effort that will be. Flying is just fine.”

_And what if it’s not fine?_ Crowley’s mind is _really_ going at it today. _Planes crash. They fall into the ocean. People can die. A fussy angel can get discorporated and won’t even get issued a new body because his former employer is just pretending that he doesn’t exist now._

“I guess,” Crowley relents. As a peace offering, he says, “Fancy a lift?”

“Of course, dear boy,” Aziraphale says with a smile so bright Crowley’s positive it would have singed his retinas if he hadn’t been wearing his shades. “Though, I won’t complain if you go your usual speeds; I do think I spent too much time packing.”

And so Crowley carts Aziraphale to the airport, and with another blinding smile and a wave, he sees the angel off through security. When the tufts of cotton hair are out of his sight Crowley feels his heart sink.

Just a week, he reminds himself, hands gripping the steering wheel of the Bentley so tightly that his knuckles are white. A week and Aziraphale will be back in his bookshop that is _not_ on fire, with the books he will _never_ sell.

There’s no point in heading back to the bookshop since the angel isn’t there, so he finds himself taking the lift to his flat, his expression made of stone. Once he makes it to his floor, he wills his door open with a flick of his wrist and closes it with his foot, not even bothering to react as its slam shatters the silence of the abode. He walks past the living room, his office, his room full of foliage, and finds himself in the room he’s most familiar with—his bedroom. Not even bothering to change into nightclothes, the demon throws himself onto the bed, planting his face into a pillow, and passes out.

Crowley wakes up two days later when his phone shrieks, signaling he’s received a message.

He lifts his head from the pillow, feeling the indentation of fabric creases branded onto his cheek, a dry patch of drool on his chin. He smacks his lips, rolling over onto his back and rubbing the meat of his palms into his eyes until he sees galaxies. This is when his phone chirps again.

Who the hell would be messaging him? He doesn’t even have any friends.

Wait.

He rolls over to snatch his phone up and sees who the messages are from. And of course, with a small smile, he sees the name of the person he’s closest to the most.

_Hello, Crowley!_ the message from Aziraphale reads. _I remembered to bring along the mobile phone you so graciously purchased for me. I noticed that you were a tad antsy before I left so I figured it would be nice to have a way to contact you if need be. There’s nothing wrong though, so don’t fret! The fair is going swimmingly, and I’ve acquired many new first additions that I’m very excited about. I hope you are faring well!_

The demon can’t help cracking a fond smile, rereading the message over and over again like a lovesick teenage girl. He rolls over on his back and begins to compose his response.

_Hey angel, glad you’re having a good time. I’m kind of surprised you know how to operate a mobile_. His mind flashes to the old rotary phone perched on the angel’s desk in the bookshop.

He sends off the message and forces himself not to glare at the screen until Aziraphale replies. Instead he pushes himself up into a sitting position and stretches, feeling joints pop and bones creak. He lets out a jaw-cracking yawn and scrubs the side of his face, feeling a bit of stubble. Willing it away with a swoop of his hand, he snatches his phone up and slides it into his pocket, standing up to stretch his legs. He scoffs at himself when he sees he’s still wearing his shoes.

And so he moves along with his day, and the days that come, mulling around his apartment mostly, watching bad telly and shouting at his plants. His only saving grace is that occasionally Aziraphale will message him and tell him about his day, new books he’s acquired, and distinguished and rising authors he’s met. Sometimes the angel will send him pictures, pictures of _himself_ with his new finds; the first one Aziraphale sent had the caption ‘_I think I’m figuring this selfie thing out!_’ and he’s smiling, holding up a mint condition copy of a Jane Austen novel. Crowley’s grip on his phone tightens considerably, so much so the metal warps. He fixes it shortly thereafter.

It’s the night before Aziraphale is supposed to come back and Crowley is feeling a bit unhinged. There’s no good shows on, he’s gotten to the point where his plants are a bit overwatered (though they wouldn’t dare show it), he’s played through every stupid game on the app store, and it’s come to the point where he’s just digging around in his closet for fun, trying to see if he can find anything interesting.

The demon _does_ own other outfits besides his usual garb, but he usually never pulls them out unless he’s feeling a need for change. He owns a variety of boots, from suede to black leather, jackets, waistcoats, scarves, tight trousers, and even the occasional skimpy black dress for when he feels like trying something _really_ different. He found he really enjoyed the flapper era.

Crowley continues to dig through his closet until he comes across a peculiar white box, one he feels like he’s never seen before. Pursing his lips, he lifts it from the shelf and examines the box. There’s nothing that stands out to him about it, but for some reason it has an air of familiarity. Curious, he lifts the lid, and at the sight of its contents, he snorts a laugh.

“Been awhile, hasn’t it?” the demon says as he lifts the vintage Hitachi wand from the box, in near mint condition. His memory falls back to its release, and its original purpose as a muscle massager, to its improvement (if asked, Crowley wouldn’t lie that he had a hand in it) as a sex toy. He purchased one when it released in the 60s and, if he recalls correctly, only used it a handful of times before putting it in a box to gather dust and be forgotten.

Let it be known that Crowley _does_ engage in self-pleasure occasionally, a bit more now that he’s unemployed and has the time, but since the toy had completely left his mind he mainly used his hands (while imagining they were someone else’s). One would think that he would tempt humans into falling into bed with him, but he realized that it came with too much emotional baggage, and he’s already got enough of that to deal with.

Plus, he knows with whom all his affections lie.

The demon would be reluctant to admit that the object of his affections would also be the center of his thoughts while getting off. He feels a pang of guilt at this but attempts at reassuring himself that Aziraphale will be none the wiser.

The thought only makes him feel worse about it at this point.

He shoves these feelings to the side. Crowley’s already feeling antsy and the rediscovery of the toy was giving him ideas on how to deal with it. It’ll definitely give him a way to kill time until the angel is back and the two can fall back into their normal routine. With a grin, he tosses the empty box somewhere in the mess of his closet that he’ll deal with later and heads to his bed, already feeling the telltale throbbing at the apex of his legs.

The wand runs on AC power and a convenient plug-in pops up next to his bed, so he shoves the plug into the outlet before shimmying out of his trousers. He can already feel how wet he is through his boxers, a dark spot prominent on the fabric.

Crowley has experimented with different genitalia before, so he does have preferences, but each one does have its advantages. If he wants something quick he’ll manifest a cock and take himself in hand before jerking himself off to completion, or if he wants something long and drawn out, something that will make a wave of pleasure spread through his body multiple times, he’ll go with a pussy, which he’s currently sporting at the moment. It’s probably a better option between the two when dealing with the Hitachi, anyway.

He lay flat on his back, staring up at his ceiling in contemplation. He follows the wicked thought in his head and presses the head of the wand against his cunt and cranks it up to the highest setting.

His back immediately arches off the bed and a moan is punched out of his chest, legs quaking, and he scrambles to shut the vibrator off. He collapses against the sheets, trying to catch his breath, face already flushed. “Holy fuck,” he gasps, remembering how powerful the toy is and how sensitive he can be.

Once he collects himself, Crowley presses the toy against himself again and flicks the wand to its lowest setting, a pleasant vibration against his clit, enough to stimulate but not enough to be overbearing. The demon sighs, head lolling against his pillow, letting his mind wander, as well as his free hand. He might as well draw this out for as long as he can; it will be much more rewarding. Most of the time he wants instant gratification, but he’ll occasionally opt to enjoy himself a bit.

His free hand begins to map the expanse of his body, starting at his abdomen first, spindly fingers dragging feather-light across the skin. He’s always been rather skinny, so there’s nothing much to grab, unlike a certain someone he knows, all soft and plush underneath tan and tartan. Crowley immediately tries to force the image of Aziraphale out of his mind, guilt bubbling in his gut, but he finds he can’t stop himself from imagining it’s the angel’s perfectly manicured fingers brushing against his skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake. The demon lets out a small whine at this, shame being overridden by pleasure.

Crowley’s hand begins to venture upward, rucking up the black shirt he didn’t bother to take off, fingers gliding across his torso, taking in the feeling of his ribs beneath flesh, before reaching his chest. He allows his thumb to circle one of his nipples before pinching it, eliciting a gasp from his mouth. In fact, the noise almost resembles that of a certain angel’s name, but the demon digs his teeth into his bottom lip to stop himself from uttering it.

His hand continues its venture after giving one final pinch to a nipple, sliding up Crowley’s clothed collarbones before reaching his neck. Next to his nipples, his neck has always been rather sensitive, so he ghosts his fingertips across the sides, over his Adam’s apple, and he doesn’t even feel remorse when he imagines it’s Aziraphale’s hands, his nails dragging across Crowley’s sensitive flesh. He lets out a soft whine before his fingers climb up from his chest and get sucked into his mouth.

_Aziraphale slides his fingers between Crowley’s lips, smiling as the demon whorls his tongue around the digits before sucking him down with a groan—_

Crowley keens, hips bucking up as he flicks the wand up a notch, moving the toy in circles on his cunt. When he feels the telltale sensation of pleasure bubbling in his lower back he lowers the setting, intent on dragging this on for as long as he can. He clenches pitifully around nothing, aching to have something fill him, so he drags his fingers from his lips, a strand of saliva attached to the digits, before trailing them back down his body, the destination his cunt.

_Aziraphale stares down at Crowley longingly as he allows a finger to trace circles around Crowley’s hole, watching as it clenches at the contact, aching to be filled. The angel chuckles softly when Crowley thrusts his hips down in an attempt to get Aziraphale to enter him, and, feeling sorry for the demon, he obliges, slipping one finger inside his wet heat—_

“Ah,” Crowley breathes, eyelids fluttering. He thrusts his finger in slowly, curling it just right to rub against his walls and a certain spongy spot. And finally, he throws caution to the wind, too lust-drunk to even care at this point. “Aziraphale, please—”

_“Please what, dearest?” Aziraphale asks, faking innocence, as he thrusts his finger inside the demon. He swirls it around inside, making a ‘come here’ motion, making Crowley’s legs quiver._

“More, I need more, angel please,” Crowley whines, and even though most of him knows that Aziraphale has always been a bit of a bastard and the chance of him obeying Crowley is small, he obliges himself, sliding his middle finger inside with his index. He lets out a closed-mouth moan, thrusting his fingers quicker now, his mind conjuring up the most filthy images involving Aziraphale.

Aziraphale putting his mouth on Crowley’s cunt, sucking his clit between his lips and sliding his tongue in him, tasting him; Aziraphale’s fingers, drilling into him; and eventually Aziraphale’s cock sliding home inside the demon, thick and hard, filling him up in the most delicious ways. Crowley’s mind races at the possibilities as he curls his fingers inside him, turning the vibrator up a setting. Would Aziraphale be slow and gentle, making love to him for hours, or would he be relentless, fucking into Crowley with abandon, leaving bitemarks and fingerprint-sized bruises in his wake? The possibilities are making Crowley’s head spin and his cunt tightens, and Crowley wishes it was around the angel’s cock.

“_Aziraphale_, please fuck me,” Crowley moans, arching his back as the pace of his thrusts pick up, rubbing the vibrator on his clit at the same frequency.

Technology is a wonderful thing, isn’t it? Not just concerning vibrators, or anything related to self-pleasure—mainly concerning phones. Smartphones, to be exact. They’re always improving with the latest technology, making them faster and smarter. So much smarter, in fact, that if you say a certain word or phrase, it will act accordingly.

Crowley’s mobile, which is laying on the bed next to him, is on silent, so he does not hear the announcement of “Calling Aziraphale” through his moans, or the ringing tone.

Of course, the reason the demon does not notice this is because he’s too concerned with the powerful vibrator on his clit and his fingers—now three—drilling into his pussy, fantasizing that it’s actually the cock of said angel that just so happens to pick up.

Aziraphale is busy packing up his luggage from his trip when he gets a call.

His mind files through two options: either it’s an annoying telemarketer again, on which he will promptly hang up, or it’s Crowley, the only person saved in his phone. At the thought of the demon, Aziraphale smiles fondly, always excited to talk to him. Despite the demon’s demeanor when he first left, he limited his texts to every other day, so Aziraphale was always thrilled to see Crowley’s name on the caller ID, and when he sees who it is, he answers immediately.

“Hello, Crowley! How are you—”

He’s cut off short, however, when he hears Crowley wailing his name. The angel’s heartbeat immediately picks up, his fingers clenching around the phone in his hand. Is it finally happening? Did Heaven and Hell figure out their little switcheroo and are coming back for vengeance? Images of the torture Crowley might be enduring flash through his mind, and fear bubbles in his belly and rises in his throat.

“Crowley?” he says, concern filling his voice. “Are you all right? Are you hurt?”

The demon does not reply immediately, and Aziraphale feels himself paling. All he hears is heavy breathing and an occasional whimper, and…a strange buzzing sound, one he can’t name. Perhaps it’s just a mobile phone thing. The angel shakes his head, returning his concerns back to Crowley.

“Dear boy, please answer me if you can, are you okay? Is anyone else with you?” Aziraphale’s voice cracked, and his fingers are ready to snap and send him to Crowley’s flat so he can confront whoever it is that’s got the demon crying out in pain.

“_Angel, please, harder, feels so fucking good_—”

Ah.

Immediately Aziraphale’s face flushes a brilliant crimson, a squeak finding its way out of his throat at Crowley’s wanton tone. Suddenly, the strange buzzing sound makes a little more sense.

Of course, Aziraphale is familiar with acts of self-pleasure. He _had _been apart of a discreet gentleman’s club, after all, and on occasion partook in it himself. He understands that Crowley, being a demon of temptation, would take part in it too (Aziraphale may have imagined it in more than one instance) but he’s still confused on why Crowley would be contacting him while doing it. Aziraphale can’t really seem to come up with an explanation because he’s too focused on the demon on the other end of the phone crying out in pleasure, said pleasure because of Aziraphale himself, and the sudden tightness of his trousers.

“_Aziraphale_,” the demon keens, and the angel thinks he might be close to completion. “_Aziraphale_, _angel, Aziraphale, yes, yes, yes_—”

A long, drawn out moan fills Aziraphale’s ears like music, the buzzing louder than before, followed by heavy panting. After a moment, the buzzing stops, the only sound coming through the speaker being Crowley’s hard breathing. The demon lets out a sigh of content, and he hears a shuffling of fabric as Crowley moves, the sound of his mobile shifting, and then—

“_Oh_, _fuck_.”

Crowley feels, in layman’s terms, completely _mortified_, the afterglow immediately drained from his body.

He doesn’t know how the fuck his phone decided to call Aziraphale. All he knows is that the angel is on the other end and completely silent, except for his breathing, which sounds a bit shaky if Crowley is picking up on it right. He picks up his phone and brings it up to his ear, his hand trembling. Immediately he begins to babble.

“Angel, I’m so _sorry_, I didn’t mean to call you I swear, this is so fucking embarrassing, I was just—I didn’t mean it, I promise, I—”

“_Crowley_.”

The angel seems calm for one who just listened to his friend get off to the thought of him. “Yes?”

“_It’s…it’s all right_,” Aziraphale says, clearing his throat. “_I just…I thought you were in pain, from all the moaning. I got worried; I thought someone from Hell had come to collect you, so I_—” The angel swallows before blurting out, “_I’m very glad it is what it was_.”

“But I—I was thinking about you, and I shouldn’t have been,” the demon stammers, face flushed. “I’m sorry, we can completely forget this ever happened. I can hang up now if you want—”

“No,” Aziraphale says immediately, his firm tone causing Crowley to come to a screeching halt. “_When I figured out what was happening, I…I should have ended the call. But something compelled me to stay. I hope I’m not being too crass but”—_he clears his throat, sounding flustered_—“you sounded…very nice, Crowley._”

“I…I did?” the demon ekes out, voice cracking.

“_Yes, my dear boy_,” Aziraphale says. “_I have a confession to make_.”

“What is it?” Crowley didn’t know his voice could rise to this height.

The line is silent for a moment, and Crowley fears Aziraphale reconsidered and is about to hang up, but the angel speaks finally.

“_You sounded better than you ever did in any of my fantasies_.”

Crowley actually _moans_ at this, wantonly, squeezing his thighs together as his cunt throbs with arousal despite having came already. He takes in a shaky breath before saying, “Fuck, angel, you’re not just saying that to make me feel better, are you?”

“_Certainly not, darling, I would never lie to you about something like this_,” Aziraphale murmurs, voice husky. A shiver jolts its way through Crowley’s body. “_I must admit, I’m feeling…affected, by all of this._”

“Are you saying you’re _horny?_” Crowley rasps.

“_Well, I—yes, Crowley, I suppose I am. I wasn’t trying to be vulgar about it, but yes._ Very.”

“Shit, Aziraphale, that’s…really hot,” the demon says, voice cracking again. He brings a hand to cup his mound, squeezing, hoping to quell the insistent pulsing of arousal. “D’you wanna…do anything about it?”

Aziraphale chuckles at this deeply. “_If you’re amenable, dear. I do have a request, however_.”

“What is it?”

“_I’d like to hear you pleasure yourself again, if you don’t mind_.”

“Fuck, _yes_,” Crowley moans, laying on his back again and putting the phone next to his head, on speaker. His cunt is aching in full-force now, yearning to be filled, and now that Aziraphale is here and is completely consenting the demon feels no guilt about imagining the angel’s cock deep inside him.

“_Please don’t hold back. I want you to be as loud as you like, dearheart. I’d also like to know what you’re thinking about_.”

“Don’t think I’ll be able to control myself, angel,” Crowley says, reaching for the wand. “G—I’ve been thinking about this for so long, you’ve no idea—I might not be able to control myself.”

“_That’s perfectly all right, my dear_,” Aziraphale replies, and Crowley hears a rustling of fabric on the other line; the angel pulling his cock out of his trousers and taking himself in hand. Crowley can’t smother the groan that leaves his mouth.

“Fuck, Aziraphale,” Crowley whines, putting the wand on his cunt and turning it to its medium setting. He wasn’t in the mood to draw this one out. “Been thinking about you all week, I’ve missed you so much—”

“_I’ve missed you too, Crowley_,” the angel says, voice wavering slightly. Crowley hears the sound of skin against skin on the other side of the line, and his mouth waters at the thought of Aziraphale pleasuring himself, over _Crowley_. “_What Effort have you made for me tonight, darling?_”

“Ngk—a cunt,” the demon says, voice rising in pitch. “Been using a vibrator but—I keep imagining its your hands.”

“_Oh? You’ve been thinking about my hands on you?_”

“Yesss,” Crowley hisses, free hand going to toy with his nipples. He keens, a broken sound. “Been thinking about them all over me, on my neck, in my hair; your fingers in my mouth, _inside_ of me—”

Aziraphale gasps, and it bleeds into a moan. “_I’d like that a lot, Crowley. To run my hands all over you. I’ve always thought you’ve had a lovely form and I’d love to lavish it with my touch, and—and my mouth._”

“Fuck, I wanna do that to you, too,” Crowley moans, spreading his legs wider. “Wanna—wanna kiss you, put my mouth on you, I want—I want your cock in my mouth, angel, _Christ_—”

The angel whines at this, and Crowley can hear him jerking himself off faster. They both won’t last long.

“_I’d love to have my cock in your pretty mouth, my love_,” Aziraphale says hoarsely. “_And I’d love to put my mouth on that pretty cunt of yours, too. I can have you on your back or you could be sitting on my face—_”

“Fuck, angel, you can’t talk like that,” the demon keens, hips lifting off the bed and gyrating slightly against the head of the wand. “Please keep going.”

“_I would work you open with my fingers first_,” Aziraphale says, choking on a gasp. “_Make sure you’re nice and wet for me before I’ll sink my cock deep inside you. Do you want that?_”

Crowley nearly wails when he finally lets two fingers slide into his throbbing cunt, clenching around them and wishing it was Aziraphale’s fingers, Aziraphale’s cock, splitting him open and claiming him. “Yes, angel, I really want that, I want it now, please come home soon—”

“_I will be on the first flight out tomorrow, I promise you, darling_,” Aziraphale soothes, voice gentle and caring over the sound of his hand moving eagerly on his cock. “_Then I’ll finally be able to make love to you like I’ve wanted to for years._”

Crowley whimpers at this, at the thought of Aziraphale actually _making love_ to him, with care and gentleness, and he feels himself growing ever closer at the thought. Aziraphale keeps talking.

“_And I know you’ll probably like it rough too, won’t you, love? I’ll give you anything you want. I’ll leave hickeys that slender neck of yours, claim you with bite marks on your throat and shoulders, make you mine when I come deep inside you_—”

“Angel,” Crowley cries out. “I’m so close, please—”

“_Yes, darling, come for me. I want to hear you, I want to feel your cunt draw tightly around my cock. Let me hear you come, Crowley.”_

With these words Crowley cranks the wand up to its highest setting and wails Aziraphale’s name as he is shoved over the edge, thighs squeezing together and hips twitching off the bed in overstimulation. Tears are pricking his eyes and his cunt is clamping tightly around his fingers, and he imagines its around Aziraphale’s cock, imagines the angel slamming home inside of him and filling him with his love.

“_Oh, God, I’m_—Crowley,” Aziraphale sighs, and the demon knows he’s found release, and a feeling of pride fills Crowley’s chest when he realizes that it’s because of him, that he brought his angel pleasure and made him topple over the edge.

Crowley’s thighs and cunt are dripping with his release, and he tosses the vibrator to the side to be dealt with later. He leans against the pillows, breaths coming out in pants. Aziraphale sounds equally as spent on the phone, and the two sit in comfortable silence before one speaks.

“_Was it good, dear?_” Aziraphale croaks, completely spent.

“Hng,” is all Crowley can really say, and the angel takes this as a positive. “I can’t move my legs.”

The angel laughs, a heavenly sound, and Crowley can’t help but smile. There’s shuffling on the phone, and Crowley figures its Aziraphale tucking his spent cock back into his trousers.

“Did you enjoy it?” Crowley asks, suddenly feeling self-conscious. He hopes Aziraphale didn’t go along with this just to humor him.

“_Oh, of course, darling. Undoubtedly so_,” the angel says, and Crowley can hear the smile in his voice. “_I’m very glad for the slight technological mishap_.”

“See? Aren’t you glad I bought you a mobile?” Crowley chuckles, smiling to himself. He feels warmth blooming in his chest.

“_Very much so, dear_,” Aziraphale says. “_So…I will see you tomorrow, if I’m correct?”_

“Definitely. I’ll pick you up at the airport once I’m able to walk,” Crowley replies, getting another giggle out of the angel.

“_I can always count on you, my darling,_” the angel says softly. There’s a beat of silence, before he whispers, “_Crowley?_”

“Yeah, angel?”

“_I…I love you_.”

A flush spreads across Crowley’s cheeks and he sputters, “I—you—_ngk_—I love you, too. Now get your sorry arse home soon so I can kiss you.”

Aziraphale laughs. “_Of course, darling. I’ll be home as soon as possible_.”

**Author's Note:**

> you know what i might write next? stripper crowley. i went to a strip club yesterday and it's all i can think about


End file.
